


Stupid Perfect

by Anonymous



Category: Widdershins (Webcomic)
Genre: Beta Read, M/M, Making Out, Pre Canon, Smut, is that a tag? They’ve been drinking but not drunk, tipsy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 12:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20275789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wolfe might be an insufferably perfect bastard, but Voss finds hanging around him is still better than being along. Then drinking together one night... escalates.





	Stupid Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t think there’s anything that needs warning in addition to tags, obviously Voss hates Wolfe so he’s angery and they’ve been drinking a little but they’re not smashed, it’s all vanilla making out and HJs basically. The E is more to err on the safe side.
> 
> Oh yeah cheers to my friend for beta reading for me, your smut reading skills are appreciated.

Voss hates Wolfe. Hates his stupid perfect aim, his stupid perfect scores, his stupid perfect muscles, and hair, and smile, and voice, and it all makes Voss want to grab his stupid perfect face and - uh... Fuck him up, somehow.

But, as Wolfe noted when they first met, they’re two misfits, and hanging around him is slightly less miserable than being alone. Besides, Wolfe seems to have latched onto him too.

It’s strange. He’s the darling of the regiment. The lads are always ready with a smile or compliment, and even half the officers, but Wolfe only seems interested in the one person who doesn’t like him.

“Why’re you sat with me anyway?” Voss asks one evening in the mess. They’re sat at the far end of the long table, watching the others banter. “You could go join that lot.”

Wolfe frowns. “I prefer it here with you. They still think being soldiers is a fine game, but you don’t like it here any more than me.”

Wolfe might hate army life (not that you’d tell from how he beams under the officers’ praise, the bastard) but there’s one aspect he obviously enjoys. Every Friday, all the soldiers go to the pub for a night of drinking and chatting up locals. Wolfe has more success than most. Voss has considerably less. He usually ends up drinking alone in the corner, while Wolfe turns on the charm and disappears out the door.

One Friday night, Voss is on disciplinary (again) for failing his written test (again) and sulks in his bunk while everyone else gets ready to go out.

“I could stay and keep you company,” Wolfe offers, and Voss knows it’s genuine.

“Just go.”

“If you’re sure. Hopefully you can come next week.” Wolfe pulls off his vest, and looks around. “Have you seen my shirt?”

“Uh, no,” Voss mutters, looking away from Wolfe’s stupid perfect abs and the dirty-blond scruff trailing down. The image lingers in mind though. Damn him.

“Oh, here it is.” Reaching up to his bunk, Wolfe’s torso is stretched out in a very attention catching manner for a moment, and Voss almost breathes a sigh of relief when he finally puts his damn shirt on. Not disappointment. “Well, goodnight!”

Voss doesn’t bother replying. He rolls over onto his front and closes his eyes, trying to block out the noise of the barracks and his own thoughts. It doesn’t work.

Two hours later, Voss is still awake and the barracks are unbearably stuffy. A bright full moon winks through the window, easily enough to see by, and eventually he sit up and pulls his boots on. Maybe a walk in the fresh air will clear his head.

The camp is deserted, silent except for the rustling forest, and crunching dirt underfoot. Voss passes the other barracks, the hated classrooms, the distorted shadows of the assault course, and before he knows it, he’s reached the admin building at the far end of camp. A wooden fence marks the forest boundary and Voss leans against it, staring into the dense undergrowth. Maybe he should climb over, keep walking, push his way through the bushes and disappear into the trees, never to return. A stupid idea - the forest is dangerous, full of beasts and outlaws - but right now it’s a hell of a lot more appealing that sticking around here.

“Voss?” a voice calls softly.

Voss jerks around, but can’t see anyone, until his gaze slides up to the roof of the admin building. “Wolfe? The hell are you doing up there?”

In answer, Wolfe holds up a beer bottle. “The stars are nice. Care to join me?”

“How’d you even get up?”

“There are some crates around the side.”

With some difficulty, Voss manages to clamber up and shuffles along the roof until he’s next to Wolfe. “Didn’t think you were the type to be sneaking around, drinking on rooftops,” he says, accepting the proffered bottle.

“Why not?”

Voss twists off the cap and drinks deeply. Tastes shit, but alcoholic at least. “Hardly ‘golden boy’ behaviour.”

“I can still have fun.”

“They why aren’t you at the bar?”

“Ah…” Wolfe’s fingers drum on the neck of his bottle. “I felt like being elsewhere.”

Voss stares at him. Wolfe never lies. “You got rejected,” he guesses, grinning when Wolfe winces. “Seriously?”

“It was going well,” Wolfe says ruefully. “Sadly, she had unusually strong objections to the military. I hardly blame her but… she shouted rather loudly.” Despite his dejected tone, he’s smiling. While the girl’s outburst may have stopped his advances, Voss doubts it diminished his attraction.

“You’ll find another redheaded girl next week.”

Wolfe blinks in astonishment. “How did you know she was a redhead?”

After a second, it’s clear he isn’t joking and Voss rolls his eyes. “You’re very obvious. Everyone knows your type.”

“They do?”

“Duh. Redheads, girls our age or men slightly older, enthusiastic dancers, the centre of attention, probably approach you first and -”

“No, please, enough,” Wolfe pleads, laughing as he buries his face in his hands. “You’re making me blush.”

Voss watches the exposed back of his neck turn red with fascination. It’s - uh. Well, it does something to him, and he drains the rest of his bottle to avoid thinking about that. When he places it by his side he notices a few laid by Wolfe as well. “There’s no point getting bashful now,” he continues. “The military thing isn’t surprising either. Outspoken’s on your list too.”

Wolfe pretends to pout, all petulant, but still hands Voss another bottle. “Hmph. You’re being very cruel to a broken-hearted man.”

“You’ll have forgotten about it by next week.”

“Perhaps, but she was very beautiful.”

“That’s going on the list,” Voss says, to be annoying. Finally he’s found a crack in Wolfe’s perfection, and it’s too much fun to let go.

Wolfe shakes his head. “No, that’s not allowed, far too vague. Everybody wants someone beautiful.” He drinks for a moment, and when he lowers the bottle he’s smiling mischievously. “Anyway, this isn’t fair. I never see you with anyone, how can I make a list back?”

Anyone else would sound like they were rubbing it in, but Wolfe simply sounds playful. “Haven’t met anyone I liked,” Voss replies with a scowl, hoping to warn Wolfe to lay off it.

Unfortunately, Wolfe is as dense as ever when it comes to Voss’s feelings. “What about blonde girl talking to you last week? She was very pretty.”

After a moment, Voss remembers who he means. She’d only been around for a short while, he’s surprised Wolfe noticed. Especially since he’s so oblivious in many things. “Not my type.”

“Then what is?” An innocuous question, in general. Nothing the others don’t talk about in the mess hall or barracks, usually uncomfortably loudly. Something friends ask all the time, right? Except they’re not friends. And here, now, in the grey light of the moon and stars, illicitly drinking together on the roof, barely a hands-width apart, with the way Wolfe lowers his voice ever so slightly and holds his gaze, it doesn’t feel so innocuous at all. Especially since, if Voss is honest, the answer’s ‘you.’

Honesty comes in degrees. “Men, for a start,” Voss replies, the first degree of truth.

Wolfe laughs and the tension breaks. “That doesn’t narrow things down much.”

“Doesn’t matter anyway.” He’s nearly at the end of this bottle already, so Voss gulps down the rest and grabs the last one. Wolfe won’t mind.

“Why not?”

“Nobody would want me.” A specific nobody in fact, but that’s a degree he doesn’t need to reveal.

Wolfe pouts again, on Voss’s behalf this time, and claps him on the back. It’s an irritating, over-friendly habit of his, always grabbing Voss’s arm or shoulder. This time his hand lingers a little longer than usual. “Don’t be like that. You’ve lots of attractive qualities, I am sure.”

“Ha. Yeah, right.”

“It’s true!” Resting his chin in his palm, Wolfe frowns thoughtfully. “For one, you’re strong, that’s attractive to many.”

Rather than ask ‘And you?’ Voss takes another swig.

“And you’re most stubborn,” Wolfe continues.

Voss blinks at him. “That’s attractive?”

“It can be.”

“Another one for your list?” he asks bitterly.

Tipsy Wolfe alone is not the same as drunk Wolfe in the bar it seems. He’s still full of good humour and annoyingly nice, but also shyer, yet somehow performative with it. Now he smiles guiltily, slightly flushed, and rubs the back of his neck, while glancing sideways at Voss in an unfairly attractive way. “Ach, don’t change the subject like that.”

“So yes.”

“Perhaps?”

Wolfe might not be purposefully unkind, but he can still be accidentally cruel. Voss isn’t sure how exactly, but it definitely feels Wolfe’s being cruel right now. He scowls. “Then that’s a stupid one.”

“Oh, can’t they be things I like?” Wolfe asks, surprise, and he must know what he’s doing, he has to, he couldn’t sound so flirtatious by accident but it just doesn’t make any sense. “Then I doubt you will like the next one either.”

Voss’s mouth moves by itself. “Why?”

“Well...” Wolfe reaches out and tucks a loose strand of Voss’s hair behind one ear. “You also have very lovely red hair.”

“I - ah -“ Heat rises until Voss’s face burns - how is he drunk already? - and he turns away. “Shurrup.”

Laughing, Wolfe hand brushes Voss’s neck as he brings it back. By mistake. It has to be. “Who’s bashful now?”

“I’m not.”

“Then face me.”

Voss takes a deep breath - it doesn’t calm him but it’s something - and turns back to Wolfe with a scowl. “See -“

He breaks off as Wolfe runs the back of his finger up his throat, tilting his chin up as though inspecting him. Voss flushes hot again and the smug bastard doesn’t even say anything, just smiles like he knows he’s won.

God, he pisses Voss off.

Yanking his wrist down, Voss tugs him so their foreheads bump together. “How’s this?”

Wolfe exhales slightly, almost a laugh. “Very good,” he murmurs, his voice warm and breathy, right on Voss’s lips.

It’s...

Fuck.

It’s kind of hot.

Then Wolfe moves his hand onto Voss’s thigh. He doesn’t do anything, just rests it there, but between that and the closeness, Voss’s mind goes blank.

His hand. Now his hand is free, he should do something. It’s his move.

Otherwise motionless, Voss strokes up Wolfe’s arm, over smooth biceps, to cup the back of his neck. For a moment Wolfe’s eyes fall half closed with pleasure as Voss brushes his nape, and Voss longs to comb over it again and again, with his nails, his lips, his teeth, anything just to see what Wolfe does, but now it’s Wolfe’s turn.

Mischief glints in Wolfe’s eyes, but Voss forgets it instantly, almost gasping as Wolfe’s hand slides up to bury his thumb in the crease of his hip. Heat floods out from his touch and Voss fights not to squirm.

“Good?” Wolfe repeats, a question this time, still in that slightly amused, breathy way.

Voss makes a noise like ‘guh,’ and blushes.

“Uh-huh,” he manages the second time. Complete words aren’t an option.

Clearly the correct answer, because next Wolfe works his thumb in a circle, digging into the sensitive spot, and Voss can’t hold back a moan.

His fingers tighten, tangling in Wolfe’s hair - it’s shade too long, he needs a haircut - and now it’s Wolfe’s turn to, if not quite moan, then make a strained ‘hah,’ sound. It cuts through the tipsy mist of Voss’s mind, straight to his core, bringing fresh waves of heat not at all helped by Wolfe’s thumb working closer and - ugh, damn him.

Voss digs his fingernails in Wolfe’s thigh. Despite the muscle he’s softer than expected - Voss wants to claw his skin until he yells, or kiss ugly marks all the way up. He settles for tugging harder on Wolfe’s hair, hard enough to hurt, but evidently Wolfe likes it because his hips twitch and he finally gives a proper, needy moan, right against Voss’s lips.

And, well, that’s it.

A moment later they’re kissing, except kissing sounds soft and romantic and this is nothing of the sort. Hard and fast - not quite a battle, a game, testing who can wring out every last squirm and shudder and dirty little noise.

At first it’s messy, clashing mouths and drool, but necessity/horniness is a quick teacher and they soon figure it out. Wolfe can’t hold back his moans whenever Voss uses his teeth, but his quick, hot tongue sets Voss’s insides alight. His hand on Voss’s hip is impossible to ignore, but he also keeps doing this infuriating thing of ghosting his other hand over Voss’s chest. Still, his body demands more with every touch.

Wolfe might be good (oh gods is he good) but Voss won’t be outdone. He gives Wolfe’s hair a final yank before clawing down his back, scraping his teeth over Wolfe’s lower lip when he arches into him. Wolfe’s moans - low, loud, urgent - are incredible, so Voss does it again, and again, until Wolfe’s melted into him, one hand clutching Voss’ shirt front. Voss might have laughed, if it didn’t mean breaking the kiss. He’s definitely winning now, but it’s not enough.

Digging his nails in, Voss tears down and around Wolfe’s back to his belt buckle, Wolfe’s breath catching as he does. Despite fumbling fingers he manages to undo the belt, but as he pops open the first button, his nails catch some of Wolfe’s scruff and he twitches. “A-again.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Voss snaps, but does it anyway. “Hold still,” he adds when Wolfe’s squirming makes it hard to unbutton any further.

“But -”

“Before I make you.” Not a threat he’s sure he can carry out, but thankfully Wolfe manages to stop moving long enough for him to finish up. As soon as he’s done, Wolfe leans in to continue their kiss, but Voss places his hands on his shoulders, pushing him back.

“Is this - I mean - can I ?” he asks breathlessly, hating the eagerness in his voice. Sounding horny’s okay - he fucking well. Every flick of Wolfe’s tongue stokes the fire inside, building pressure he’s dying to release. That’s just his body though, starving for a little bit of pleasure. If Wolfe wanted to end this game here, it would be frustrated, sure, but he’s used to frustrated - too many restless nights after watching Wolfe change. It’s his traitorous mind that wants Wolfe to say yes, wants Wolfe wanting him for once.

“Please…” Wolfe leans in, collapsing against Voss’s shoulder, his mouth right by his ear. “Please do.” He’s practically whining, all needy and desperate, and completely unexpected. It’s almost a joke, but Voss looks down to see Wolfe straining against his shorts, a patch of precum spreading as he rocks his hips back and forth, trying to rut against Voss’s palm. Wolfe might be insufferably good at most things, but he couldn’t act like this.

Voss locks eyes with him. “You’re sure?” Sure you mean this? Sure you mean here, now? Sure you mean me?

“I am.” Lowering his head, Wolfe tugs back Voss’s collar to press rough kisses up his neck.

It’s not fair - he’s holding back for Wolfe’s sake, but he’s not making it easy. Voss squirms, helplessly tilting his head back as Wolfe nips the sensitive spot under his jaw.

“Touch me,” Wolfe murmurs, lips brushing Voss’s ear and oh fuck, he hadn’t realised he’d been dying for Wolfe to do that, but now he is and Voss might collapse. “Please, Dominik…”

The final syllable becomes a gasp of pleasure as Voss grasps Wolfe’s cock. He’s warm, and already wet, so Voss swirls his thumb over a few times - Wolfe’s little prove it’s good, but Voss has no patience for gentleness - before pumping his hand up and down.

Eyes half closed, barely restrained moans slipping from his lips, Wolfe fumbles for Voss’s belt and pauses. “You’ll let me - have some fun too, won’t you?”

“Aren’t you already?” Voss asks, twisting his grip.

Wolfe shudders. “Yes - ah - but fun is - always better shared, no?”

Ideally he’d draw out the exchange, watch Wolfe fall apart with each rough stroke, but Voss has no patience for teasing either. He needs Wolfe touching him. Now. “Fine.”

Wolfe undoes the buttons without trouble (fucking typical) but Voss doesn’t have time to get mad because then Wolfe’s hand closes around him and - oh, it’s so fucking good. Instinctively, his hips rock in time with Wolfe’s hand, and his hand, and Wolfe’s hips, their breaths are short, harsh pants now and it’s like they’re one. With the handful of men Voss has been with before, it was always very separate and distinct - one kneeling, one against the wall, one taking his pleasure and then the other taking his. No words, no asking, no thought of the other. Now though, Wolfe’s lips keep twitching in a smile, he’s enjoying making Voss feel good which somehow makes it feel even better, so Voss speeds up to outdo him, which only makes Wolfe smile more, creating an awful loop those moans are doing nothing to help and Voss knows he can’t stand much longer

“Ah!” Wolfe cries out, his voice strained like he’s trying to keep quiet, which, yeah a little part of Voss knows they should do because they’re still out in the open, but mostly it’s just hot. “Wait, slower, or -“

Voss kinda wants to make him come anyway, to leave Golden Boy sweaty and dirty and all messed up. Just enough of his brain is working though to remember stumbling into the barracks together smelling of sex would raise a lot of questions, so he stills his hand, and tries not to whine when Wolfe lets go to pull out a handkerchief.

“There,” Wolfe murmurs once he has it, and thrusts into Voss’s hand with a tight gasp. “Can I continue?”

Voss bobs his head quickly, lips pressed together so he can’t say something mortifying, like he’ll die if Wolfe doesn’t. The worst part is it feels true. He grits his teeth against the cry that rises when Wolfe takes him again, and twists his hand hard.

Shaking, Wolfe braces himself against Voss, and Voss’s free hand snakes up to tangle in his hair again. That’s it. As he comes, Wolfe arcs into Voss, his entire body convulsing, digging in his fingernails as he holds him close. Then he collapses with a happy sigh. “Oh, Dominik.”

“Shut it,” Voss says, shrugging him off, but it lacks bite. His hips are restless, and he twitches impatiently as Wolfe cleans himself up. A vicious stab of pleasure rushed in at making Wolfe come first, but that dissolves into frustration with every second Wolfe’s hands are off him. “Hurry up,” he snaps impulsively.

Wolfe chuckles. “Impatient?”

Rather than reply, Voss yanks him into another, rougher kiss. He’s already won, this is pointless, too harsh to feel good, but it’s all a lot of everything and maybe if he kisses hard enough then he won’t think about what everything actually mean. His lips are hot and sticky and sting a little; he goes harder and hopes it hurts Wolfe too.

Wolfe doesn’t get it, never could, and returns the kiss with more tenderness than Voss can stomach. He breaks away, wincing, or maybe that’s because Wolfe is stroking him again and it’s unbearable.

“Is that good?” Wolfe asks, pretending like he doesn’t know it is, doesn’t know he’s ridiculously good at everything, apparently up to and including handjobs and pissing Voss off.

“Fuck -“ Voss starts, and he might have meant ‘fuck you’ or ‘fuck off’ or ‘fuck me, please, hard as you can’ but before he can decide the next word is cut off as Wolfe kisses his neck.

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

Voss’s thoughts are - his mind - he’s in no state to reply. Wolfe’s hand is moving exactly right, every kiss up his neck hits just the right spot, and it takes all his shredded willpower not to moan Wolfe’s name - then he’s coming, head tilt back to stars he can’t see, mouth silently forming those syllables, body juddering as he spills into Wolfe’s handkerchief. For a moment he just pants, riding out the shockwaves until spent.

Then he lowers his eyes. Wolfe is watching him, cheeks flushed and a tipsy smile spreading across his red-bitten lips.

Reality hits in a cold wave, any lingering warmth from the booze and sex evaporating. Oh god. That actually happened.

“Once you clean yourself up, we should head back,” Wolfe says cheerfully, completely unconcerned. “It’s getting late.”

Voss blinks at him. Head back, to the barracks? But they just -? How could he -?

Then understanding sets in. This doesn’t change anything. If Voss were to mention it tomorrow, he already knows how Wolfe would brush it off, ‘What’s a little fooling around between friends?’ Smiling his stupid perfect smile like he hadn’t been begging for Voss’s touch the night before.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is nothing between friends. But they’re not friends, not even a little. Voss hates Wolfe. Just... he also drunkenly got with him on the admin building roof.

Fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> This is posted to anon since I’m pretty sure 90% of my subscribers are for the ace stuff so hopefully now this won’t show up in their inboxes and set off repulsion or anything? Anyway I’m sure you can all tell who this is 😏 I found this very amusing and yes, I did write this solely so fic numbero 69 could be the first widdersmut. I now regret that word. It’s 2:15am.


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